Achieving Perfection
by CrossoverQueen
Summary: We all want perfection, no matter how unwilling we are to admit it--but sometimes, the reality will help more than it hurts.
1. Chapter One

**Achieving Perfection **

**A/N: **I don't own Dragonriders of Pern, nor any of its characters, and neither do I own Arolos Weyr. I only own the characters in this fic.

This is not a Sue parody.

I'm sure everyone has dreamed up a perfect situation at some point, and I'm sure that most of us have been let down when we realized the reality.

It's like being a writer; most people want to be famous for writing masterpieces, but they usually don't realize all the work that goes into just getting yourself known. You need agents, editors, and contacts with several publishing companies (in case your first choice rejects your idea), and then you have to plan various things out before they even begin publishing your story.

It's the same with dragonriders. Most people only know them from the Teaching Ballads, and of the sacrifices they make to protect Pern. They probably wouldn't know that dragons' hides are soft because their riders have to oil and bathe them, and it takes time and effort to take care of such a large creature--which is primarily why they need tithes from the Holds.

There are quite a lot of things that the average holders wouldn't know about dragonriders, when you come to think about it. I decided to build on that idea, originally planning to write a Sue parody, but then I realized--normal people want perfection too.

So as I said before: This is not a Sue parody.  
-

**Chapter One**  
It was an auspicious day for the dragonriders of Arolos Weyr. The queen Laith's clutch had been laid only two days ago, and the Searchriders had been out looking in the local holds for Candidates. There was no queen egg, which was fine since they had two junior goldriders already, but there were thirty-two perfectly good eggs that needed Candidates.

Currently the dragons were still on the ground, their riders making last-minute decisions or going to their weyrs to check if they'd forgotten anything.

One pair in particular was quite eager to be off. Gisellaine, a greenrider who'd transferred to Arolos a few months ago, was going through a last-minute checklist with her dragon Zedorianth.

_Are you sure you don't need oiling right now?_ It was rather trivial to discuss such a topic when they were just about to go on Search, but it had been almost a sevenday since Zedorianth's last full oiling and her hide felt a bit dry underneath the harness.

_Yes, yes, I'm sure! Come ON! I want to Search!_ The green's mental voice was almost whiny, rather like a child's but endearingly eager nonetheless. Gisellaine sighed.

_Fine, but after we get to the Hold I want to hear __nothing about how you're itchy. Now, did S'ramol's bronze say anything?_

If Gisellaine had been speaking aloud, one would have noticed her faintly maternal tone. She had no intention of _actually_ holding her wing back just for oiling Zedorianth, but it was an almost set-in-stone habit of hers, spawned about half a Turn into their training when the giddiness of the newly-Impressed had worn off.

_No, I don't need__--! Oh, sorry, Gisellaine. Corelth said we're about to take off. Is my harness all right?_

_Yes, Zedo, I checked inside and out this morning. It's not going to break any time soon._

_Where are we going again?_

_The Hold. I'll send you an image of the courtyard when we go **between**__._

At S'ramol's signal, the wing leaped into the air. At around a dragonlength above the Bowl, Gisellaine pictured Arolos Hold's courtyard. It was sunny today; that would make light flood the courtyard and illuminate the area, every detail standing out in a golden wash.

Then S'ramol raised his arm in another signal, and the dragons vanished _between_.  
-

Tarie was busy sewing. She didn't like sewing clothes, even if they were her own--it was far too quiet and dull. However, since she'd had nothing else to do today, she didn't exactly have much choice. So she kept one eye on her sewing and let her mind slip into her usual daydream.

There was nothing she dreamed more about than riding on the shoulders of a beautiful golden dragon, fighting Thread like Moreta. She heard the bronzes roar, saw the flames coming from their jaws; just as a clump of Thread came close, she burned it to ash with her flamethrower.

Then, just as one clump came too close to burn, she and her queen winked _between_ in a flash. It was horribly cold, and dark, and lonely, but it was saving her from a far worse fate--and she had her dragon, too, which would be a comfort.

And just as suddenly, they came from _between_ in a burst of light and sound and warmth, and Threadfall ended for the day. She would smile then, as she and the riders had protected Pern for one more day...

Surely being a dragonrider was much more exciting than being a holder.

A sudden stir about the Hold alerted her--Search dragons!

She came out into the courtyard, then stopped in confusion as she saw holders of various ages forming a crowd. Her confusion only grew when the Search dragons were mostly blues and greens, and there was only a single bronze and one brown.

"...girl there if she's young enough?" the bronzerider was saying to Aitra, the headwoman.

"Tarie!" she called out. "You're sixteen, aren't you?"

She nodded as she was ushered into the line by her father. "Father, what's going on?"

"What's going _on_?" he repeated amusedly. "Tarie, the Weyr's on Search!"

"Really? But... Isn't the Weyrwoman supposed to come? It's her dragon's clutch, isn't it?"

"Marta's too busy looking after Laith," a quiet voice said next to her. Tarie started, then looked around to see a slender woman with brown hair and deep green eyes. The knots on her shoulder clearly marked her status as a dragonrider--as if the green behind her wasn't enough for Tarie to know.

"She's busy?" Tarie asked politely, trying to hide her surprise at the realization that a dragonrider had just spoken to her.

"Yes," the greenrider said. "Very." She turned to her dragon, and her eyes unfocused for a moment as she spoke to the green.

The green peered at Tarie a moment, with whirling green-blue eyes. She sniffed the air around the girl a moment, reminding Tarie of a friendly canine, then bugled as her eyes spun bright blue. Tarie stepped back a little, more at the sudden volume than at the bugle itself.

"Oh, lovely!" The greenrider's face broke into a smile unexpectedly. She looked around, then called, "Hey, S'ramol! This girl's a Candidate!"

"Remember to introduce yourself," was the only reply. At that the rider blinked a moment, then gave a sort of huff.

"Oh. Sorry, I... I think I forgot to introduce myself," she said with a sudden, slight stutter that surprised Tarie. "My name's Gisellaine, and this is my Zedorianth. What's your name?"

"My name is Tarie," she answered, holding her hand out for Gisellaine to shake. "How are you?"

_We're fine!_

Tarie nodded a moment, then realized that Gisellaine's mouth had not opened. She looked up at the dragon, who aside from looking directly at her showed no signs of anything different.

A dragon had spoken to her. Not only the rider, but the dragon herself. Yet another moment passed as Tarie went through varying emotions, from shock to surprise to utter elation--wouldn't her mother be pleased to find this out!

_It's me--Zedorianth!_ Heedless of whether Tarie was still listening or not, the green continued quite cheerily. _How are you today? The weather's sunny, isn't it? Nice for warming up from between, but I like a little more wind because that makes it easier to glide. Gisellaine gets sunburn sometimes, but only when it's REALLY hot at the Weyr--_

"Zedo, hush," Gisellaine said firmly, and Tarie heard no other voice in her head. "T... Tarie, was it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You should go pack now. You can stay a few more days if you like, to tell your relatives, but--shards, Zedo, stop complaining! She'll talk to you later," Gisellaine cut herself off irritably.

"I'll be back right away," Tarie said to the distracted rider, dashing off to get her things.  
-

Back in her room, she slowed to think over what had just happened.

Search hadn't been what she'd thought it was, not at all. There'd been only blues and greens, with only a bronzerider and brownrider--why hadn't the Weyrwoman come? Well, Gisellaine _had_ said something about her being too busy...

But it didn't feel _right_, she thought stubbornly. Weren't riders supposed to be dignified and proud? They'd always seemed that way at Gathers or delivering messages--but then, all the riders she'd seen were bronzeriders, the watch-rider, and the Weyrwoman, and at a distance to boot.

She'd always imagined she'd be handpicked by the Weyrwoman herself, or a bronzerider, or sometimes even a brownrider like the Hold's watch-rider, and whisked away to the Weyr before she'd realized what happened. She didn't expect to be Searched by some greenrider with a stutter, even though Gisellaine did seem polite.

But she certainly hadn't expected a dragon to talk to her! _That _had been a very pleasant surprise, even if Zedorianth was more cheerful than she'd imagined a dragon would be.

Search itself, though--it was much more routine than she'd thought. She'd had no idea they gathered the children like that--it felt more like getting picked for a game than getting Searched for the queen's clutch.

As she tossed a few clothes into her bag, most of them somewhat formal (she had to make a good impression at the Weyr) she looked over her finer clothes for something she could wear at a Gather. Right when she'd narrowed her choice down to either the red dress or the deep-purple one with the embroidered collar, someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," she said to the person, at which her mother came in.

"Well, Tarie, how do you feel?"

"I don't really know, Mother," she admitted. "I expected something--well, _different_ from this."

"Yes, a real Search tends to surprise people, and you've always loved dramatizing things," her mother replied. "It was a bit fast, too, but I think they've already Searched the other holds. S'ramol said they've already gotten about forty Candidates, so they're going to stop Searching after they get... oh, fifty, fifty-five Candidates."

"Fifty? But there's only thirty-two eggs."

"They have to give the hatchlings some choice, dear," her mother said with mild astonishment. "Surely you don't think _every_ Candidate Impresses?"

"Mother, have you been Searched?" Tarie asked suddenly, realizing that everything her mother had just said was far more than an ordinary holder would know. "How do you know all this?"

"I'm not trained as the headwoman's replacement for nothing, Tarie. I know the basics of Search. Now, finish packing and I'll tell our family the news. You should take your red Gather dress, it suits your hair much better."

With that, and an encouraging squeeze around Tarie's shoulders, her mother left her to finish packing.

Presently, Tarie couldn't help but think one last thought as she packed the red dress more carefully into her bag.

It would have been easier to know that her mother had once been Searched herself. It may have led to some half-forgotten dream of her mother's ("Surely you don't think _every_ Candidate Impresses?") buried under sixteen Turns of life and training as the headwoman's apprentice.

It may have led to a lineage of riders, some great Weyrwoman or Weyrleader that had been in the bloodline, yet kept firmly under the surface of an average holder due to some scandal, or even a darkly heroic or controversial past.

It may have led to a queen dragon in her own future.

-  
**EDIT, 1-27-09:** I've changed all of the mind-speech from my rebellious bold-font to the standard italics. I have no idea why, aside from "This is how Anne McCaffrey does it and I might as well do it to stop people from asking why my dragon-speech is in bold from now on."


	2. Chapter Two

**Note:** Once again, astrokath, you have managed to smooth out a chapter for me.

**Chapter Two  
**When Tarie went back outside, she saw that the dragons had already assembled in wing formation. Bag in hand, she walked over to the wingleader's bronze but hesitated as she saw three other Candidates already mounted on the dragon's shoulders.

"Need any help getting on Corelth?" asked a male voice. She turned to see the bronze's rider standing near her, and shook her head.

"Um, where's the rider who Searched me? I think I'd rather ride with her, so your dragon won't get worn out too much," she told him, more awkwardly than she'd planned.

"_Four_ Candidates wearing my Corelth out?" he asked with a laugh. "He could carry three more along with you. But all right, lass; do you know the rider's name?"

"Her name's... Gisellaine, she said."

"Oh, Gisellaine and Zedorianth--they're the third-last to the right," he said, pointing them out. He remounted nimbly despite the other three Candidates, a sort of hop-skip from his dragon's forearm, saying to the bronze, "Corelth, could you tell the others we're about..."

The last part of his sentence faded as Tarie walked away.

"Hello, Tarie," Gisellaine said as Tarie neared her and Zedorianth. "I think we've only gotten three Candidates here--they're with S'ramol, right?"

"I don't know the other riders," Tarie said in feeble explanation--which Gisellaine took in the completely wrong way.

"Ah, you're shy?" she asked, tugging the bag out of Tarie's hand and tying it neatly onto her dragon's harness. "Don't worry about that, shyness doesn't matter even if you're standing for a queen egg--"

"No, it's not that!" she interrupted. "I just don't know anyone else from the Weyr."

"Oh," Gisellaine stopped. "Well then, you need help getting on? Zedorianth, dear, d'you mind?"

Zedorianth gave a rumble and lowered her neck, then held out her forearm like a step. Tarie was rather hesitant to mount, wondering if the soles of her shoes would be too rough for the green's gleaming hide.

Gisellaine, in a sudden movement, jumped onto her green's forearm and then onto her shoulders (it was almost identical to how Corelth's rider had mounted) and held out her hand. "Don't worry, Zedorianth's seen much worse than a Candidate's shoes. It's not going to hurt her at all. Be quick about it, though; Zedorianth said we're going to take off soon."

"How did you know I was--"

"She told me."

When Tarie reached up and took her hand in a secure grip, then placed a foot on Zedorianth's forearm, she was surprised to see how effortlessly the slender woman pulled her up; the greenrider was much stronger than she looked.

"Do you want to use the safety straps?" she asked. Tarie nodded, more to hasten the experience of riding a dragon than anything else, and ignored the part of her mind that rebelled at being treated like a child as Gisellaine strapped her in. "You might want to hold on for when we go _between_," she added.

A few minutes after everyone had mounted and everything was secure, Tarie saw the wingleader raise an arm, then drop it after a moment. The Search dragons leaped up as one, raising a dust cloud as Tarie's breath was literally taken away from the wind pressure. As they climbed higher into the air, she risked a look down, and was both terrified and delighted at the sight she beheld.

Not only were they gaining altitude at a _very_ fast pace, making Tarie feel like she was somehow falling up into the sky (the thought gave her nausea) it was exhilarating to see the entire layout of the Hold from this high up. The figures of the holders had become small moving dots in the Hold, which looked almost like a detailed, colored map that only a master would be able to produce.

"Tarie..." Gisellaine called over the wind, and despite their close proximity Tarie still strained to hear her. "...hold... we're going..."

Hold? Weren't they going to the Weyr? she wondered. Then she realized.

_Between._

In a burst of panic, she clutched Gisellaine's waist and screwed her eyes shut as freezing darkness swallowed them.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes 3/19/07:** The dialogue is MUCH better and Dayffid's speech covers a lot more topics.  
**  
A/N:** I've decided to skip ahead about a week, just in case you all get thrown off. But knowing Pern, where a good deal of fics NEED to skip ahead in time, this note is probably not necessary. Oh yes, and I'm going by the Arolos rules--so any praise for the ideas should go to the people who created Arolos Weyr, not me.****

-**  
Chapter Three**

In the several days after Tarie had been Searched, she had realized a good many things about Arolos Weyr--or indeed, any Weyr on Pern. For one thing, there was the Candidate Master Dayffid; an imposing man in his thirties whose first lecture to the newly-arrived Candidates regarded relationships.

"My name is Dayffid, the Candidate Master. Come with me to the Candidate barracks," he'd told them, with a firm note that belied his plain speech. "The drudges will take your things in a moment; I can't have you distracted by unpacking."

Once the new Candidates--which included Tarie, two boys, and a slim black-haired girl who looked about seventeen--had taken seats in either the chairs next to the cots or on the cots themselves, Dayffid began speaking.

"All of you know why you've been brought to Arolos Weyr. You have been Searched as Candidates for Laith's clutch, and you're all no doubt hoping to Impress."

A murmur of agreement arose from the Candidates.

"You, with the black hair--what's your name?"

"Amirsa," she said proudly. "My father is Holder Amineo."

"Do you think you'll Impress?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

"That's good," he nodded, surprising Tarie. "Queenriders often have strong minds. But right now, it doesn't really matter if you're planning to Impress."

"What?" Amirsa asked. "But... sir, you just told us that queenriders--"

"I said that queenriders often _have_ strong minds; that doesn't mean they always _are_ like that. For all you know, Marta may have had no confidence when she was a Candidate herself," he said absently. "But you're getting me off track. I am here to talk about the most important thing concerning Candidacy."

They waited for him to continue; Tarie expected something about their duties to the Weyr when--_if­_--they Impressed at the Hatching.

"Relationships. Let me explain," he said over their confused protests. "When you are a Candidate, all relationships--not to mention drinking--are to be put on hold, if not discontinued. Little things like holding hands, kissing--to a certain extent--are fine. But sexual relationships are out of the question. You will not stand for the Hatching if you are ill, injured, or pregnant."

"_Pregnant_?" Tarie asked. "But you said before that we couldn't--"

"I don't make the rules, so don't question me. Either way, I know this better than you, and there will always be someone who breaks the rules no matter how many times we drill them into your heads. You Candidates are a lot more impatient than the last group."

Tarie, after a moment of complete shock, simply nodded and let him go on. It wasn't so much what he _said_ that shocked her--it was the manner in which he said it. He was not forcing her to adhere to his rules--he was merely telling her to listen to them.

"Now, I'll give you a moment to get over your shock," he continued. There was a pause, then he went on. "You may have heard of what goes on at the Weyr; tales of women and men who sleep with anyone regardless of gender... or consent. Granted, some of that's true, but the riders really can't help that sort of thing when their dragons rise for a mating flight."

"What do you mean? Sir," one of the boys added hastily.

"When a green or gold rises to mate, their rider's emotions reflect those of the dragon. When the time comes for her flight, which usually means there is no threat of Thread, the dragon will rise to mate regardless of what her rider wants. With a goldflight, the feelings may spread to others if they're close enough to the queen in question."

"But." he added, more like a statement than an addition. "Just because that happens to the riders doesn't mean you can blame getting yourself or someone else pregnant on a flight. Arolos is known for being quite liberal about a lot of things, but just because you're a Candidate doesn't mean you're immune to anything. If you don't tell me honestly where you are or where you will be, rest assured that I'll find out and punish you suitably.

"If you assault or coerce someone--not just the sexual kind--depending on the severity, you will either be punished and do extra chores, or be expelled completely from Candidacy. We will not let you stand if you turn out to be violent, and this doesn't apply to men alone.

Also, any drinking habits you have--or start--should only be in moderation. Drunk riders jeopardize their entire wing in Fall, and having to ground them for hangovers will lose a perfectly capable dragon."

"Um... sir?" Tarie asked.

"Yes?"

"Will this be different after we Impress?"

"Not right after, if that's what you mean. Your dragons will be too young to tell the difference between what's actually injuring you and what's just putting you out for a day. As it is..." he went out of the barracks for a moment, most likely to ask or check the time, then returned. "I've covered everything. Any questions? No?" he asked in confirmation as no one raised their hands. "All right then, go on and introduce yourselves to the other Candidates." That said, Dayffid turned to leave the barracks.

"Oh, right--I almost forgot," he added, sticking his head back in. "About a sevenday before the Hatching, there will be a pregnancy test done by the healers for all female Candidates. No sex before the tests or after they're finished--that's cheating."

Tarie, upon nearly bolting from the barracks with the other mortified Candidates (barring Amirsa, who seemed rather disheartened and merely walked out), thought she saw a dryly amused smile on the Candidate Master's face.

But maybe it was just her imagination.  
-

**Notes:** This seems to have taken a completely different turn from what I planned it to be. Oh well--anything concerning pregnancy and/or sex is sure to turn into some sort of humor. Sorry for making this so dialogue-heavy; there's really not much to write about when I have four shocked Candidates and an unflappable Candidate Master.

Thanks to Eminempern for making me bribe her with an update so she could update _her_ story.

Oh yeah, and once more--thank you to astrokath for catching a few things that I didn't.


	4. Chapter Four

So far, Tarie's time at the Weyr had been uneventful. In addition to the Harper classes, exercise, and Weyr-specific lessons, Tarie had chosen to learn from the Weyrhealer as it seemed the most interesting occupation--and, which the Weyrhealer had correctly guessed, it would give her chances to work with dragonriders.

The Weyrhealer was unassuming upon first glance, with light-brown hair that was slightly shorter than most men's, and not much aside from his knots that Tarie could pick out. But he was much more approachable than Dayffid was (which relieved her) and much less stern than the Hold's healer.

"A lot of Candidates come to me hoping they'll become a rider's personal healer," Keghan smiled at them. "Especially the girls. Maybe you will, maybe you won't--just remember, some of you may _become_ the rider in question, and it gets old once the excitement wears off. But we could always use more healers, you know. Now, the two most common medicines are numbweed and fellis. If you only know to use these two properly after I'm through with you, I consider my job done."

-

Healing, even the basics that Tarie and the other seven Candidates were learning, was more complex than most had thought. After a brief explanation of numbweed ("Use a lot of it, and use it as fast as possible without getting sloppy," Keghan told them) and the first few lessons about the most common illnesses and injuries, they had moved to the most urgent lessons: How to treat Threadscore.

"In theory, treating Threadscore is simple," Keghan explained. "Clean the score, dump some numbweed on it and bandage it. But there's more to it than that--you have to keep the patient restrained--and they're riders, so they'll be hard to restrain--find out how serious the wound is, and most importantly, _keep calm_. In the worst-case scenario, both dragon and rider have gotten scored, and they'll be thrashing around because Threadscore _hurts_. T'ren, if you please?"

He turned to the mounted bluerider who'd come to help for the lesson, whose dragon began swinging his head and tail about in feigned pain. It struck the Candidates how _large_ dragons were then, and even though T'ren's blue was careful to keep from hitting anyone, it was clear that a truly injured dragon wouldn't be so considerate. The others were as hesitant to get close as Tarie was, and Keghan motioned for T'ren to stop.

"Thank you for the demonstration," he told the pair. "I don't expect you all to start jumping in and helping the rider off yourselves--leave that to the experienced healers. However, if there's nobody around to help you, you can ask the dragon to keep still. It might take a few repeats, but they _will_ hear you and they'll stay as still as possible. Now, the first kind of score is simple--a strand of Thread may have hit an arm or leg..."

-

Over the next two sevendays, they continued through the basics: how to treat colds, fevers, and minor to moderate injuries. Upon hearing that Thread was to fall the next morning, Keghan held another lesson involving the lesser-seen Fall injuries--concussions, dislocations, and sprains.

Dayffid called the Candidates together for an announcement once everyone was accounted for in the Barracks. "You all know that Threadfall is tomorrow," he began. "As important as you are to the Weyr, you need to do something useful during Fall to get a feel for what it's like--unless you're under fifteen. Now, could half of you move to the--"

"Sir?" Amirsa asked. "What jobs _are_ you assigning us?"

"...Right," he paused. "You know the firestone I had you all breaking for the last sevenday? Half of you are going to help the weyrlings transport it. The other half will be helping the healers in the Bowl. If you're in the group who's been taking healing lessons, move to the left right now so I don't put you somewhere else."

The groans of disappointment as Dayffid headed to the center gained a frown from him as he divided them into two groups. "None of that. If I stuck all..." he paused to subtract the six youngest Candidates. "If I stuck all forty-eight of you in the Bowl, it would crowd things too much for the healers. There's plenty of Thread anyway--you'll be rotated every Fall."

-

_Thread's coming,_ Zedorianth said in a rare moment of seriousness as Gisellaine headed back from dinner. _Is our wing flying?_

"Yes," she answered. "Remember, Zedo, _don't_ try to flame every clump of Thread without telling the wingleader where we're going."

_I will,_ the green assured her. _I like Corelth--he's less stuffy than our other wingleaders were._

The brunette suppressed a chuckle as she took her harness from the wall, inspecting the leather for cracks or stretched areas. "I'm just glad that S'ramol doesn't yell at me for not predicting your every move. Drills went well today, though."

_Harkness was watching!  
_

"Really?" Her harness was more than acceptable as she placed it back on its hooks, moving on to her helmet and goggles; nothing was wrong with them (although she did check them out of habit), but they needed last Fall's ash cleaned off.

_He likes watching us practice,_ she informed her rider happily, curling up on her couch. _But he's always worried when Thread really comes._

"So is everyone else," Gisellaine pointed out too quickly, polishing away the ash with sudden interest.

_You don't like him?_

"Of course I do, but it's--you're overreacting… Fall's tomorrow, let's get some sleep." Gisellaine said, covering the glowbaskets and stumbling into a chair before feeling the way to her bed. "I'm fine!" she insisted upon hearing her dragon's alarmed squeal. "Now go to sleep or we'll be tired during Fall."

_But why don't you like him thinking about you?_ The green asked as Gisellaine settled under the sleeping furs, her eyes tinged yellow in the darkness.

_Go to sleep, Zedo,_ she repeated firmly.

-

Even with a good night's sleep, Fall was less than pleasant--wind and subsequent clouds after an hour made Thread hard to see even for the dragons, and harder to predict which way individual strands would fall. Several of their wingmates had nearly run into each other, with two counts of Threadscore so far.

Zedorianth banked to the right instinctively as another green came from _between_, flaming a strand of Thread a few dragonlengths away. Gisellaine adjusted her goggles and checked her firestone; only a third of it was left.

_The weyrlings are coming with more,_ Zedo informed her. _I told them we need to refuel._

_Oh, good; you need any right now?_

_Just a little._ The "little" turned out to be half of what was left, and both were relieved when a brown weyrling _betweened_ above them, laden with a full sack of firestone.

_The wind's shifting,_ Gisellaine warned Zedorianth as the other pair swooped to transfer it, faltering slightly but steadying half a length above while she grabbed the other end of the rope.

A particularly violent gust twisted the sack sideways a few feet above them, with the now-awkward weight making Gisellaine lose her end of the rope. The last thing she heard was the brown's warning bellow before she got knocked off Zedorianth's shoulders, hanging half-consciously in the straps.

_Gisellaine? _The green's eyes whirled yellow as the silence stretched between them. _Say something! Wake up! Are you okay?!_

_Zedorianth, what happened?_ The wing-third's brown came from _between_ as Zedorianth, by now completely panicking, started vocalizing her distress.

_She isn't talking! The wind shifted and she got hit with the firestone and now she's not __**answering**__--_

_Calm down--we'll take you to the Bowl._ He flew underneath the pair, and Zedorianth settled onto his back while his rider got a firm hold on Gisellaine. The greenrider's eyes were hazy, and though she was awake and breathing steadily, she didn't quite seem able to respond to anything.

"Two scores and a concussion, all in our wing," S'den muttered under the wind. _This is a bad Fall, Mellith, _he said to his brown before they went _between_.

-

Tarie had been loosely assigned to the journeywoman healer Dida, who was efficiently cheerful in spite of their hectic surroundings. There had been a lot of injured riders--many with Threadscore, but a surprising array of unrelated injuries had cropped up; broken or sprained limbs, burns, and the results of mid-air collisions.

"What a horrible Fall," Dida remarked. "Five collisions and it's barely half-over? The weather must be murder up…" The arrival of a green being carried by a brown stopped her mid-sentence. "Oh, Faranth--that's _Zedo_!"

They headed over as the brown's rider unbuckled Gisellaine's riding straps--she was limp, but conscious enough to mumble something as the two placed her onto a stretcher. Zedorianth's distraught moaning filled Tarie's ears, and her hide was even tinged with gray as her eyes whirled a painfully bright yellow.

"Tarie, could you get a cup of fellis?"

She nodded and left at a fast walk--running was hazardous during Threadfall, with all the dragons' takeoffs and landing from _between_--and returned with the fellis to find a slightly-exasperated Dida both checking Gisellaine's vitals and trying to coax an answer out of Zedorianth.

"--Faranth's name do greenriders manage it?" The journeywoman took the fellis with a grateful smile and set it next to Gisellaine's stretcher, catching the brownrider's arm before he remounted his dragon. "She wouldn't have told you how Gisellaine got concussed, by any chance?"

"Oh, sorry--she got hit with a firestone sack," he told her. "The wind shifted before Zedorianth started shrieking--the sack probably fell by accident."

"_Thank you_," Dida sighed as he remounted and took off. "All right then, Tarie, let's get that fellis into Gisellaine's system. I'll hold her head up."

"--answering," Gisellaine mumbled. "She's not answering…"

"Go ahead," Dida encouraged Tarie as she hesitated. "She won't choke."

After the first two sips, though, Gisellaine sat up in an unexpected burst of consciousness. "You need any right now, Zedo? _Ack_--" she clutched her temples as Dida pushed her back down, motioning for Tarie to keep giving her the fellis. "The wind--"

"Why do concussed people always try to get _up_?" Dida complained, seeming to ignore the greenrider's constant questioning.

"…What happened?" she asked, no longer struggling after half a cup of fellis but still questioning her green. "The wind's shifting…. Zedo? What happened? You need any more--"

"Why does she keep saying that?" Tarie inquired as they lifted the stretcher to take Gisellaine to the Infirmary.

"In a few minutes, she'll stop," Dida assured Tarie. "Twenty pounds of firestone isn't a bump on the head. Thank the First Egg for her helmet, though, or she would have been knocked out."

-  
The Candidates returned to the Barracks to find Dayffid sitting in the common room, with mugs and a kettle of heated klah on the table.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he told them after they sat down. "Most Threadfalls aren't even half that bad."

He paused, but nobody asked anything. "Once you Impress, you will never be able to back out. A dragonrider's life is far from luxurious or easy, and it's definitely not for the faint of heart. Now that you know what Fall is like for one side, I understand if some of you are starting to have doubts."

Another silence; most of the Candidates were too tired, shocked, or both to do much.

"If you feel like it, you can go eat dinner now," he finished. "If not, just go to bed."

-

Tarie ended up awake anyway, with Threadscores, blood, and screaming dragons running through her head. _Dragons make the most awful sounds when they're worried…_

She was brought out of her thoughts by someone getting up and running to the privy, following them there and uncovering a glowbasket to find someone with familiar long black hair bent over the latrine.

"Amirsa?" Since the Holder's daughter was in no state to answer questions, Tarie simply went up and held her hair back.

"Thanks," she said feebly after wiping her mouth and straightening up. "Sorry for waking you up."

"Actually, I couldn't get to sleep," Tarie admitted on the way to the common room. She took a mug and filled it with lukewarm klah, keeping the jug uncovered for a moment. "Do you want some?"

Amirsa shook her head. "I might throw it up again."

"So…" Tarie took a sip of klah. "What were you thinking about?"

"The… Threadscores," Amirsa answered. "The noise, the mess, and how painful it all looks--and the dragons," she finished. "I've never seen dragons like that before. Even if their riders are the ones hurt--they make such terrible _noise_."

"But Fall's not always going to be that bad," she pointed out, to an affirmative nod.

"Even so…" Amirsa sighed. "Well, Impressing the queen from the next clutch would mean I'd be in _less_ danger. Responsibility I can deal with; constant peril, not so much."


	5. Chapter Five

Dayffid brought the Candidates to the lake a few days later, when the shock of their first Fall had mostly worn off. The Candidates were perplexed at the sight of about twenty dragons waiting patiently for them, either near the shores or in the shallows. Their riders accompanied them--except for that of a familiar green, Zedorianth.

On closer inspection Gisellaine was sitting at the base of her dragon's tail, which was curled protectively about her midsection. A handsome, brown-haired man was standing next to Zedorianth as well, and Dayffid cleared his throat with dry amusement as he noticed where a large percentage of the female Candidates were staring.

"Candidates, do _not_ acknowledge Harkness until after I'm finished talking," he told them. "Now, half of you know how bad Fall was a few days ago--" the reminder sobered them, "--so I've decided to let you experience a less dramatic aspect of a dragonrider's life. The most important thing for dragons--beside food and water--is having their hides washed and oiled. Since some riders are still recovering from injuries, they aren't quite able to do the job alone like they normally would. That's where you come in."

He motioned to the buckets of soapsand and brushes on the shore. "Use those to bathe them, and the jars of oil once you're done." He stopped them as they headed to the supplies. "Wait--up to four per dragon _only_. I don't want all ten girls flocking to Gisellaine's green because of Harkness. She's not _bedridden_."

Zedorianth crooned in amusement as Tarie and Amirsa reached her with brushes and soapsand.

"It's nice to know these Candidates care about greenriders so much," Harkness joked. "You _did_ get a knock to the head though, Gisellaine, so feel free to let me handle Zedo if you start getting tired."

She nodded while taking up a brush and soapsand, scrubbing Zedorianth's hide firmly for a moment. "All right, since the brushes are stiff you might think they'll scratch her if you scrub too hard--don't worry, it won't. In fact, dragons like it better if you scrub harder. Just make sure you're careful around her eyes, and pay more attention to her wings and head-knobs since they're not as straightforward--"

"And Zedo loves playing water games," Harkness added in spite of Gisellaine's less-than-amused reaction. "You want to make sure she doesn't trip you or anything."

Tarie giggled as they set to work, spreading out along Zedorianth's torso while Gisellaine continued scrubbing her tail and back. After a reminding trill from the green, she advised them to double-check Zedorianth's underbelly and (as Harkness had warned) kept her tail from wandering too close to the Candidates.

-

Even still recuperating, the greenrider's progress was faster than theirs, and Tarie's arm was sore after twenty minutes. To her dismay, though, they were only halfway finished with Zedorianth, and they would still have to oil her once they did.

"Be glad she's not a queen," Gisellaine told them sympathetically--the larger colors, even with more people to attend to them, were actually slightly _behind_ the greens' and blues' progress. "Larger colors take twice as long to oil and bathe. I'd say we'll finish with Zedo in another hour."

Amirsa sighed and switched from her right hand to left, with Tarie doing the same after massaging her own arm for a moment.

"Oiling is much less backbreaking," Harkness informed. "It only takes an hour."

"_Only?_" Amirsa groaned, but brightened when Harkness spoke to her.

"Not to worry, my lady--you'll get a break when Zedo rinses herself off."

It was then Tarie realized that aside from Gisellaine, Harkness and Dida were the only ones to use a nickname for Zedorianth. Everyone else used either her full name or "Gisellaine's green." She shifted closer to the rider, not quite sure if she wanted anyone else to hear, and asked, "Gisellaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it normal for other people to use nicknames for a dragon?"

"Oh, Zedo doesn't mind," she assured. "Unless we need to be polite or we're introducing ourselves, it's pretty common for close friends or mates to use your dragon's nickname--unless the dragon says otherwise. Saying "Zedorianth" all the time got to be a mouthful after a while."

While Gisellaine had probably trained her stutter out for everyday conversation, when she spoke about her green there was a confidence in her voice that made her sound much more like a rider.

_More like a rider,_ she thought with some surprise, _or what __**I**__ think a rider should sound like?_

"…were weyrlings," Gisellaine replied to Amirsa. "Dragonets grow nonstop for the first three months, with just as much oiling as you'd expect. Even Zedo started wearing me out once she got bigger than me. It's less of a maddening pace once they reach half their adult size, though--and once they're done growing, they only need a full oiling once a sevenday."

"Thank the First Egg," Amirsa said. "Are you all right?" She asked when she saw the rider falter slightly.

"Fine, it's just--I lost my… balance--"

"And here's my cue," Harkness interrupted with sudden firmness. "Go sit down, Gisellaine."

Though she gave another few syllables of protest, she gave up and headed to a shadier part of the Bowl.

"She _must_ have Impressed at Benden," he remarked. "Benden riders never like leaving the work to someone else."

"She never told you?" Tarie asked.

"All she's told me _or_ Dida is that she was transferred a lot between Weyrs," he admitted. "Zedo must have gotten them into trouble, not that Gisellaine's going to admit it. I can only imagine how such an impulsive dragon would do in Threadfall _without_ her rider to rein her in."

The green in question grumbled and sent a small wave at him with her tail.

"Oh, _you_," he chuckled after avoiding the wave with a well-timed sidestep. "Move your wing a little, please."

-

The girls (and probably Harkness) were beyond grateful when Zedorianth's bath was finished. She, in turn, squealed happily and dove into deeper water to rinse her hide off, little more than a greenish streak under the water. The Holder's daughter managed to keep a trace amount of dignity as she waded out of the lake, but Tarie only went as far as the shore before flopping down and shading her eyes with one hand.

"And your mother will be Arolos' next headwoman?" Amirsa stretched her arms out with a sigh. "You have no idea how to keep your appearance up, do you?"

"It's not like _I_ was going to be headwoman," she pointed out. "Besides, this is the first time I've _ever_ washed something as big as a dragon!"

"You have a point," Amirsa told her grudgingly. "Shards--it feels like my back got pounded by a smith's hammer."

While oiling Zedorianth was indeed less physically intensive than washing her, all of the Candidates were glad when the dragons were finished with. Additionally, they were beginning to see the point of the daily, rigorous exercise that Dayffid was putting them through.


	6. Chapter Six

"We're going to visit the eggs after your morning chores," Dayffid announced, to the excited cheers of the Candidates. "Remember now, this isn't just for fun: We're going to practice what to do when the Hatching comes around. It can get chaotic once it's actually happening, so unless you want to panic and hurt yourselves--or the hatchlings--there are rules that _everyone_ needs to follow. Wear something with thick soles; the Sands are going to be hot. And Faranth help me if some of you _don't_ know, but be respectful to the Weyrwoman and Laith."

Daily chores were finished as quickly as Dayffid would allow, and a few Candidates had to borrow the appropriate footwear from the headwoman, but mid-morning the Candidate master finally took them to the Hatching Sands.

-

A hush fell over them as they entered, watched warily by the golden queen as she turned one of the eggs around. "Don't worry, Laith--it's just Dayffid and the Candidates," Marta assured her, to an acknowledging croon as her queen's eyes turned turquoise. "There we go, Dayffid. Your Candidates will be fine."

The eggs were not cream or white like a wherry's eggs, as Tarie had expected; instead they were shades of brown or yellow, with splashes of blue and green for the smallest eggs. Some of the larger eggs even had a metallic gleam to them, but whether it was their own or simply a reflection of their mother's hide (as they were the closest eggs to her) was unclear. The largest of all was rather pale compared to the others, huddled in a ring of its bronze fellows, but Tarie could see the boys eying it hopefully. Whoever Impressed the bronze inside (because who could doubt that it _was_ a bronze?) would be the envy of the other weyrlings.

"Obviously, about half of you aren't going to Impress," Dayffid remarked. "This is an unpleasant fact of any Hatching, but don't make the mistake of thinking you'll _never_ Impress--you were Searched for a reason, after all. We won't make you stay if you really don't want to, but we _do_ have two junior queens and this helps the remaining Candidates feel better since they don't have to wait a Turn or longer for another clutch. And it's a Pass right now, so we'll need Candidates. Any questions?"

The subsequent shifting was probably for reasons other than the Sands' heat; aside from the most confident Candidates, everyone showed varying degrees of uncertainty despite Dayffid's assurances.

"Dayffid, you have to stop telling them that when they actually _get_ here," Marta reproved. "Thank the First Egg you weren't Candidate master at High Reaches… Anyway, the eggs are about two-thirds their full size right now and they'll get a few hands bigger once they're ready to hatch. Which should be in…" Her eyes unfocused for a moment. "Two and a half sevendays, maybe three. I'll have P'norn tell the Weyr so we can start making arrangements. Good luck to everyone who'll be on the Sands."

She smiled encouragingly at the Candidates, which alleviated most of their uncertainty, and they waited uncertainly before Dayffid spoke again.

"Oh, go ahead--I know you've all been waiting to see the eggs," Dayffid said, with the exasperated tone of an older brother. "Just make sure to let everyone have a turn. No pushing or shoving--or trying to monopolize certain eggs," he added for the boys in particular. "The dragons choose whom they will--even getting Searched is no guarantee for what _color_ you'll Impress."

The girls filtered through the eggs at a sedate pace, but the majority of the boys headed straight to the bronze eggs. A few of them lingered with the others, though all but a few of them gave in and went to the bronze eggs as well.

The largest egg was about the size of her arm, with the smallest eggs at least several inches shorter, and the smaller eggs were already hardening. "The bigger eggs will be fully hardened after two or three sevendays, as Marta told us," Dayffid told them. "The exact _time_ of the Hatching, however, can only be determined by Laith and the other dragons."

_Fifty-four Candidates,_ Tarie thought as she wandered throughout the clutch, mostly keeping to the green eggs but allowing herself to stroke a larger egg now and then. There were only thirty-two eggs--how could she be sure that one of the eggs held _her_ dragon in it? What if she was one of the Candidates left standing? Her family would understand, and it wasn't like she was _that_ badly needed at home, but…

_That won't do,_ she cut herself off. _I __**will**__ Impress a dragon._

Her feet were uncomfortably hot, even with thicker shoes than usual, and several of the younger Candidates were fidgeting. Standing before the huge bronze egg, she felt a sudden impulse to stroke it as she'd done with the others, although the reason why escaped her since girls couldn't Impress bronze. It was warm, as everything else in the Sands was. She could imagine the sleeping hatchling inside it, wondering why there was suddenly noise and people around it.

_Can hatchlings hear before they're out of the shell?_ She wondered, gazing at the egg with an unusually specific attentiveness. Was that how they knew which Candidate would be their rider, and their own names?

"Not even Laith knows if they can hear anything before she can hear them herself," Marta remarked, startling her and a few of the others. "She usually says that it's been that way since the First Egg."

"Did she hear me?" Tarie asked in surprise.

"Probably. But _I_ could tell you were thinking about it, too." The Weyrwoman chuckled as Tarie reddened at her assumption. "My Laith's had a fair few clutches since we've been together, and I've learned to guess what potential weyrlings are thinking. It helps that I used to be a Candidate myself, thirteen Turns ago," she joked, getting a laugh out of Dayffid and the more confident Candidates.

"Well, we've spent about twenty minutes getting to know the eggs," he said after checking the time outside, "so now's for the _purpose_ of going to the Sands. Boys, come here and I'll get you into a presentable group."

The Candidate master spent about fifteen minutes sizing up the boys, placing them in a loose semi-circle with the youngest ones at the edges. "Less risk of getting scratched or knocked over by the dragonets," he explained. After rearranging a few of them, he moved to the girls with the same method, although he advised them all to memorize their positions since there were fewer of them. Tarie was near the center, in-between Amirsa and a younger blonde girl.

-

By the time everyone was assigned their chores, Dayffid's reminder was only a stray thought in their heads and the boys were thinking up shortened names for their Impressions. Tarie privately thought that the dragons would be giving the boys their names, especially since the Weyr-bred Candidates were indifferent to joining the discussion. She was also glad that girls didn't shorten their names, since the on-and-off discussion had been going on since Tarie had arrived at the Weyr, and she was rather sick of it.

She did wonder about the huge bronze egg, though, and why her thoughts about it ran deeper than the general interest.


	7. Chapter Seven

After two more visits to the Hatching Sands, the eggs were half again their previous size; the largest egg was almost to Tarie's waist. By comparison the smallest eggs looked tiny, but they were still a few inches higher than her knee, and the eggs were all much harder. If the Candidates listened hard enough, they could hear the dragonets shifting in their shells.

Some time after the third visit, the Weyrwoman stood up at the front of the Dining Hall with a joyful expression on her face--which could only mean one thing. Everyone quieted expectantly.

"The eggs will be ready to hatch next sevenday," Marta announced, to a small explosion of cheers among the rest of the Weyrfolk. "Everyone be sure to get ready for it."

-

As soon as the drum messages were sent, the Weyr was astir with preparations for the Hatching. The beastcrafters selected the most promising herdbeasts for the Hatching feast, the riders were making arrangements for outside visitors, and the Candidates helped the drudges with cleaning and organizing the Weyr, paying close attention to the Dining Hall and guest weyrs. There was considerably less complaining than usual, though--everyone was focusing more on the Hatching and their hopes for Impression.

The mood was dampened slightly, however, at Dayffid's reminder of the pre-Hatching checkup and yet another lecture from Dayffid.

"The boys need a checkup, too," the Candidate master reminded. "If you fall ill with even a sniffle, tell the healers about it. Weyrling training is strenuous enough without you having to blow your nose every few minutes. Any injury bigger than a scratch must be reported, and even _that_ will cast a slight doubt on your ability to stand since open wounds can get infected, and infections are things that nobody wants to deal with.

"These rules aren't in place because we want to annoy you. It's _you_ and your future dragon's heads on the line, not mine--so by Faranth's queen egg, _stay out of trouble_. I don't want to be the one dealing with a weepy Candidate because they got their leg broken three days before the Hatching." He frowned at the memory, belying his usual pragmatism. "Tomorrow morning I'll take you to the healers. After that, no drinking for those old enough, no sex for the same, and no pushing yourself too hard with exercise--oh wait, I should have known that we pamper you like Holders' children this close to the Hatching," he drawled sarcastically while many of the Candidates started protesting.

Tarie didn't mind since the workload was basically unchanged, but Amirsa seemed affronted at the Candidate Master's assumption. "What's the matter?" She asked in an undertone.

"I'm the second of five children," the Holder's daughter told her with a frown. "My family shares Father's rank, but the heir is the one everyone pays attention to."

"You have an older brother?"

She shook her head with a grin. "Mirrani is my older sister; Neosir's third. He was _so_ jealous when I got Searched; Father said for the dragons to leave him since he was the heir, but they didn't even look at him."

"Did he really want to Impress?" Tarie stifled a giggle, despite feeling vaguely sorry; it felt a bit like hearing one of her cousins was sick.

"Well, he used to play bronzerider when we were kids, but he likes being Holder more than Weyrleader," she answered. "I'm guessing he just wanted to say he was Searched, but he gave up his right to stand because he cared about the Hold and it would let the _whole family_ down if--"

"Speaking of families," Dayffid interrupted pointedly.

"Apologies, sir--Tarie distracted me," she told him without a pause.

"_Hey!_"

He continued regardless of whether they were listening, and Tarie gathered from his talk about assigning a wing or two for transportation that he meant the families of the holder Candidates. "Regrettably, we can't send bronzes for all twenty-two of you. We may have forty full bronzeriders, but they're for Lords and Masters only. The largest color any Candidate will be able to send is a brown, but we have no problem sending two dragons for the larger families, so please tell me if more than four family members want to be here."

"But sir, dragons can go _between_," Tarie pointed out. "Wouldn't it be just as fast to have one dragon take another trip?"

"It's more a matter of protocol than actual _need_," he explained. "People like knowing that we've thought things out. By the way: If the Hatching starts and you can't get to the Sands on foot, feel free to ask a rider to give you a lift. Ideally you'd have enough time to put on your robes and actually _ask_, but dragons have a tendency to swoop down and cart lagging Candidates over. I know I've been telling you that being prepared is of utmost importance, but in the end the hatchlings don't care if you're wearing Gather clothes or rags as long as you're suitable. That's not to say you shouldn't _try_, though--I will be _very_ displeased if everyone shows up in Gather finery instead of their robes..."

Would the dragons go _between_ to the Sands, or just fly there? Even a straight flight was faster than the thirty minutes of walking that the Candidates were familiar with, but if Hatchings were as hectic as Dayffid implied, the dragonriders would probably be _betweening_ to the Sands and back every few minutes. Tarie had a sudden and very amusing image of Amirsa getting dropped (albeit carefully) onto the Sands by a harried dragon, and stifled yet another laugh.

Amirsa glared at her, having correctly guessed her thoughts, so she decided not to test anyone else's patience and sat quietly through the rest of the lecture.

-

After dinner, Dayffid sat the Candidates down in the lecture hall and handed out sheets of hide. "Technically, _I_ already know most of this--it's for the Weyrwoman's records that you even need to answer half of those questions, and I would rather not try to dredge up the favorite colors of fifty-odd Candidates from memory."

_Name:  
Age:  
How long have you been a Candidate?  
What's your favorite color?  
Hold, Craft, or Weyrbred?  
Favorite food?  
Favorite dragon color?  
One hobby you have?_

Tarie tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear as she read it over again, just to make sure she hadn't missed anything. But it was indeed asking for her favorite color--she thought that was just one of Dayffid's offhand examples to emphasize the questionnaire's trivial nature. Several of the Candidates had already finished theirs, and handed their sheets to the Candidate Master with varying degrees of puzzlement. While Amirsa was writing, she looked at her sheet as if it was a particularly stubborn canine refusing to do its job.

She sighed and started filling her own out. Just because it was boringly easy didn't mean she had to act like a dimglow. _Tarie, sixteen, three sevendays, purple…_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Note:** One of my reviewers mentioned that Tarie was starting to feel two-dimensional since I had her act so normal, and suggested that I give her an opportunity to get angry or scared, and then I remembered that too much normalcy is bad for writing. XD Also, I was thinking of ideas for Tarie's Impression and was reminded one of my nice, sociable RPG characters at Mavros Weyr who Impressed one of the scariest dragons on Pern, so here's what my readers have all been waiting for.

-  
The humming started just after dawn, so the few who were awake enough to hear it mistook the noise for their ever-present fantasies. But as the sound grew, spreading from dragon to dragon and resounding in their bones, Dayffid uncovered two of the glowbaskets.

"Hatching time! Get ready and go to the common room!" That statement, along with the bright light and growing volume of the dragons' humming, woke them up immediately. The rest of the Weyr had already sparked into action, with dragons taking off from their ledges and blinking _between _as a blend of excitement, fear and anxiety growing in the Candidates' minds.

The Candidate Master left to wait in the lecture room, and the time they spent changing felt like candlemarks even though it must have been only a few minutes. The dragons' noise permeated their minds and gave everything a sense of urgency--Tarie had a feeling that even _between_ would feel ten times slower right now. She shrugged on her robes after making sure nothing would snag or get caught on something, and waited for the crowd of girls rushing through the doorway to thin out.

As she stumbled into the common room (now that the brief jolt of awareness was gone, she was back in the muddled area between sleep and consciousness), she was aware of Dayffid's voice, counting them as they arrived.

"--ty-two, forty-three. Sharding--!" He crossed the room to the boys' entrance and stuck his head through the curtain. "If you can't wake up when the Hatching is starting, you'll be hopeless as weyrlings and riders! I'm not playing the doddering uncle, and we'll leave in ten minutes whether the rest of you are ready or not!"

A few minutes later, all fifty-five Candidates were dressed and accounted for.

Dayffid finished counting just to confirm the fact, then headed to the Sands at a brisk pace--nearly twice as quickly as when they'd usually visited the sands. But the eggs hadn't been hatching the first three times, and nobody protested now that the moment they'd been waiting for was here. The eggs were rocking steadily and firmly, and Dayffid ushered them into their practiced semi-circles around the clutch. After a moment of watching the eggs, he motioned for them to move several steps back.

Tarie searched the spectators' stands for her family: Her parents were off to the side, two rows away from the Lord Holder and headwoman. Her father waved and smiled at her, and she respond right before one of the now violently-rocking eggs split. A blue emerged from the shards, then lurched towards the Candidates with an earsplitting clamor and eyes red with hunger. A few of them stepped back as he passed them by, his wet wings not quite folded properly--the boy he chose was a dark-haired holder.

"His name's Millonth!" A sprinkle of cheers was heard from the Arolos section of the Stands as he beamed, with the joy on his face echoing that of his dragon's whirling blue eyes.

Attention was turned back to the other thirty-one eggs as the first Impressed pair left. Three greens and a bronze hatched, two of them Impressing girls immediately. The cheers were coming more loudly now, with the loudest ones for the first bronze of the clutch. He nearly tripped in his zeal to get to his rider, with his squalling mouth within worrying inches of another Candidate, but he righted himself and Impressed without injury.

All eyes turned to the largest egg, rocking even harder than the rest of its brethren. Cracks formed like tiny lightning bolts as noises from the inside grew louder, and the egg broke to reveal wet, dark gold--a _queen_.

"Laith--you trickster, you!" Marta cried amidst the shocked gasps, but they turned from delighted surprise to fear: The new queen's movements were swift and harsh, her red eyes scanning the female Candidates with only the barest consideration.

She paused in front of Amirsa, who stood her ground cautiously; she looked like she was holding her breath. A tense pause--the others stepped back--but the queen cuffed Amirsa in the torso, then turned and moved abruptly towards the other Candidates. Amirsa hit the sand painfully, clutching her chest while some of the girls shrieked and ran, with their panic catching even among those well out of the queen's rampage.

"Dayffid, calm them down!" Marta's voice carried over to everyone while the Candidate Master, healers and several riders headed onto the Sands. "Holders, stay seated--she won't be able to reach you from the stands!"

"_Don't run!_" Dayffid caught up to the fleeing Candidates and halted them. "You'll make things worse if you run!"

Though the girls returned to their places or at least stopped trying to run, their eyes were still wide with fear as the gold prowled through the half-scattered Candidates, and with each discarded girl she seemed to grow angrier.

_Stop._ Laith ordered, bearing down firmly on the hatchling. The young queen snorted, but slowed her pace with difficulty. The other eggs continued to hatch in the background, seemingly forgotten in the mayhem. _Calm down, __**now**__!_

_Why? _The gold demanded.

_One of them is yours,_ Laith explained.

_But I can't find her!_ She snarled in exasperation. _Why aren't they staying still?!_

_Because you're scaring them,_ Laith said curtly. _Walk to them instead of running, and don't shove anyone else just because they aren't yours._

Amirsa was moved to the edge of the Sands for the healers' inspection, and the Hatching returned to normal as the other dragonets emerged from their eggs. The gold dragonet inspected and left three more Candidates in turn, lashing her tail but no longer attacking anyone. Greens Impressed two of the discarded girls, and their joy was mingled with relief as they left the Sands--and the gold--to the spectators' applause.

The gold stepped in front of Tarie, flexing her claws impatiently. Tarie stepped back, hands locked to her sides and unable either to make eye contact or look away while her mind ran at lightning speed. What if she Impressed the queen? What if she _didn't_ Impress the queen? Should she move back to keep some distance? No, that might make her mad again. Would she get knocked over like Amirsa--or even worse injuries? Sweet Faranth, what if she _died_--

The queen snorted and went to a girl with brownish-black hair. A small, collective sigh was heard throughout the Hatching Cavern as the tension dissipated at last. "Her name is Beltenth!"

She let out a shaky breath in spite of her disappointment. That queen was frighteningly bad-tempered, but she couldn't help wondering...

A nudge nearly made her jump out of her skin, and she whirled to meet the eyes of a green standing to her left, keening hungrily. One look into those faceted, whirling eyes, and everything faded into the background. The noise of the other hatchlings, the fear and disappointment from not Impressing the queen, and even her concern about Amirsa--none of it related to the sudden, thrilling realization that _Tarie had Impressed_.

_Tarie, my name is Eyarlith!_

"Eyarlith?" Tarie's voice cracked, but by now she was far too preoccupied with the single fact that mattered right now. Her dragon's name was Eyarlith and she was light-yellow-green and she'd never be alone or unhappy and there was something wet on her face, and--and--and--

A bluerider on his way back to his seat changed his course slightly. "You know, you'll have to feed her sometime before Turn's End," he joked, jolting her out of her dreamy trance and making her redden slightly.

"Oh, right--of course I will! Come on, Eyarlith!" She hastened off the Sands with Eyarlith in tow, surprised at the growing emptiness in her stomach but not really minding.

-

One of the last greens to hatch was a smallish one, dark-colored and rather subdued. She made her way through the Sands with a clumsy gentleness that was lacking in her golden sister, her disconsolate mewling akin to that of a lost pup. Too many people! Where was the Right One?

The huge group of people at the edge of the sands terrified her, but that was where the Right One was! She was in pain, but nothing was too damaged, and she wasn't loud or scary like the others trying to get her attention. She edged over timidly and butted her head into the Right One's hand. _Amirsa, my name is Nianath... And I'm hungry, and I don't know where the food is, and there are too many people, and they're loud and I don't like it--_

"That's all right," Amirsa rasped out. "I'll feed you in a few minutes, Nianath."

The healer helped her up carefully. "Nothing's broken, thank the Shell, but your weyrlinghood is going to be quite an ordeal for the first month. Come to the Infirmary after the Hatching Feast--we'll put some numbweed on the worst of the bruising."

"Nianath," Amirsa repeated the green's name, patting her small head before they left for the Bowl. "Just look at you..."

-

**Notes:** I had a very bad dilemma on deciding the queen's rider: It would have been too cliché to have Amirsa Impress her, and it would have been too cliché to have Tarie Impress her. Then I remembered there were ten other girls, and I felt stupid. There's nothing special about the new queen--her shell being undetected was just a random, harmless fluke.


	9. Chapter Nine

_Gisellaine shifted uncomfortably in the hot Hatching Sands. She had the appearance of a Lord's daughter in a ballad, with her dark waves exaggerating the fairness of her skin and her deep-green eyes, but her demeanor contrasted sharply with it. She did not have the hopeful enthusiasm of the others who were nearly twenty-rather, her constant cringing at the flying shell fragments and shrieking hatchlings was akin to the much younger Candidates, who couldn't help the instinctive jolts. Perhaps it was due to the slow pace of this particular Hatching; only twelve of the forty-seven eggs had hatched in the past half-mark, despite their vigorous rocking. The clutch was almost absurdly large, with a queen egg on top of it all-information that was both joyous and inconvenient, with the Weyr's subsequent scramble to find more than sixty Candidates. In the last two months they'd turned to other Weyrs, and Gisellaine had been transferred with three more of Benden's female Candidates._

_Gerran shook his head. "What in Faranth's name was Benden Weyr __**teaching**__ her for three Turns? 'If you don't Impress in your first two Hatchings, you're a drudge?'"_

_Layka clucked and motioned towards their nephews and youngest daughter, who were luckily more focused on the Sands to notice Gerran's remark. "Maybe they just didn't realize it-you know how quiet she is."_

_"Hmph." He returned his gaze to the Sands, where three greens were inspecting the circle of Candidates. One of them veered towards Gisellaine at an angle; not like a runner sprinting to the finish line, but just enough for her to notice-and then the girl shrank away, collarbone locked to her chest as the green stumbled towards one of the nearby boys. "Maybe it's best that we're at Ista. Smaller Weyr, less people they feel they can shunt off if-"_

_Another warning, this time from Greym-surprising, since he rarely interrupted his father, but Gisellaine had always been the soft spot in the family: A stranger would have had a hard time figuring out that Gisellaine was the middle child, not the youngest. "Father, don't tell her that she should stop getting herself disappointed and come back home-she'll stick with this until she's twenty-two. Besides, dragonriders are perfectly good people."_

_"It's not the riders I have a problem with," Gerran clarified irritably. "How is it that Benden had dozens of healers, yet none of them noticed that she's been getting quieter with every Hatching?"_

_"She never liked telling people if something was wrong."_

_Nearly a candlemark later, the clutch had finally dwindled to half the original number; the attending healers now stood at the edge of the Sands, laden with waterskins and goblets as a quick remedy for the Candidates showing signs of heatstroke. The younger and smaller ones were suffering the most, though all of the Candidates' robes had become drenched with sweat by the first candlemark-and those whose robes were actually starting to dry out were firmly called over. Drudges had also been called to the spectators' stands with the same intent, though they had trays of pre-filled cups rather than filling them a few at a time._

_Gisellaine was still there. Aside from a halfhearted attempt to Impress the queen hatchling-doomed from the start, since her face turned white the minute the young gold screeched her arrival-she seemed to be filling with panic as hatchling after hatchling passed her by. Gerran and Greym politely applauded at every Impression, mostly to keep the rest of the family from noticing their stony expressions._

_The last twelve eggs hatched, and Gisellaine was a still figure amidst the remaining hopeful Candidates. She didn't seem to be trying anymore; she moved out of the way as hatchlings stumbled past to Impress her fellows, accepted water from the nearest healer, and waited with a carefully neutral expression. She was glancing around-probably wondering whether to make a preemptive exit, like her fourth and last Hatching at Benden (the Candidate Master had needed a candlemark and a half to look for her, well past the Hatching Feast's end and probably her intent), or to stay there and undergo another bout of silent pity._

_She didn't need to; one of the last few greens, a forest-hued runt, made tracks for her as exuberantly as a canine pup and with twice the clumsiness. Gisellaine stumbled back as the green curled her tail around one of her legs-and smiled for the first time in three Turns._

* * *

Gisellaine woke up with a nostalgic smile on her face, but it fell rapidly as later memories flashed through her head: No rider relished the thought of losing their dragon, but she'd spent the first six months of weyrlinghood exhausting herself in the more personal fear that she'd lose Zedorianth after waiting for three Turns. This had earned her a weekly candlemark with the healers for the rest of her training, and added insult was getting shunted-or _stationed_, as the proper term was-in the queen's wing for the next two Turns.

Zedorianth crooned reassuringly from her stone couch; their weyr was a bit small, since they were both relatively new and the only additional rank they had was a Search pair, but neither minded the inconvenience. _Do you want to talk to Dida about it?_

"No, no,_ no-_" Gisellaine carefully lowered her shoulders, took a breath, then repeated it more rationally. "No, Zedo."

_Why not?_

"Because... sh-she's a healer, and if I tell her we'll get put in the queen's wing, and then people will feel _sorry_ for us again_._" She finished decisively. Stuttering already-not a good start, but at least it wasn't in public. A quick brushing to get the tangles out of her hair...

_Then tell Harkness. He's not a healer._

"_No._ It's... complicated..." she took her everyday tunic and trousers out of the chest and put them on, along with her boots.

_It's always complicated with you,_ the green lamented, her eyes pale orange with irritated worry.

The rider sighed and took out the weighted sandbags she used for strength exercise. It was the day after a Hatching, so she didn't really _need_ to exercise, but she lost muscle rather quickly and it was better safe than sorry. "Go sunbathing for a while."

Zedorianth squawked and didn't budge. _You should come with me, or you won't talk to anyone for the rest of the day._

"Not yet," Gisellaine said, distracted as she counted her third lift. "I'll be done in a few-GAH!" The exclamation was from getting grabbed by a fed-up Zedorianth and carried to their weyr ledge. _"Zedo, what are you doing?"_

_Taking you with me!_

"Nonononononono-" she clutched her green's arm as tightly as possible, fighting the urge to turn or look down. It was all well and good to know that Zedorianth wouldn't drop her own rider (on purpose?)-but it was one thing to be strapped into her nice, safe harness, and another thing entirely to be hauled around by the midriff and feel her feet dangling in the air. Then, as Zedorianth plummeted off the ledge, words failed her in favor of undignified shrieking.

_-scene-_

Distant screaming alarmed Harkness as he and Dida ate, though the source of it was quickly found-one of the greens had taken her rider on an impromptu flight. As the dragon in question neared the Dining Cavern, she landed a few dragonlengths away from the entrance and lumbered over; dragons were always awkward on land, and the fact was more obvious since the green had one arm full with her breathless, irate rider.

"Harkness, I think that's ours," Dida remarked, draining her mug of klah fast enough to put any drinker to shame. "Weyrlings are too self-conscious to cart their riders around, and Zedorianth's the only adult dragon I know who would."

Zedorianth placed Gisellaine onto the ground with delicate care as they arrived, an odd contrast to the woman's mass of dark-brown tangles. _Talk to her,_ the green told them firmly. _She's getting mopey._

"I am not getting _mopey_," Gisellaine insisted during her first shaky steps. "Well, I suppose you could call it that... since I've been hauled off-l-like a _herdbeast_..." She trailed off, deep green eyes staring intently at the entrance to alleviate her dizziness. After a few moments, she waved her green off more fondly. "You can go sunbathing if you want, Zedo."

_It's always what __**I**__ want_, the green groused in a rare moment of enigma.

_Hmm?_

_There's nothing wrong with __**you**__,_ Zedorianth told her as she curled up in the sun. _Stop acting like it._

She was about to continue the conversation while she tried in vain to untangle her hair-where was this coming from?-but blinked as the healer finished talking. "Sorry, Dida, what was that?"

"I thought dragons were supposed to be nice."

"They can't _hurt_ people," Gisellaine corrected ruefully. "And it's only limited to... _physical_ injuries."

"Injured pride doesn't count?" Harkness quipped as they walked.

She followed Harkness and Dida to the table they'd been sitting at, then thanking the drudge who came up with a bowl of cereal and mixed a spoonful of sweetener in while he poured her some klah. The cavern was buzzing with the good cheer of a Hatching, and presently she caught sight of a familiar, broad-shouldered figure with black hair and eyes: Her wing-second, D'ref. "We've checked with the other wings, and three of your Candidates Impressed."

"Really?" She ran through them in her head. Tarie had Impressed a green, she knew; but a good deal of the Hatching had been chaotic with the surprise of the new (and intimidating) gold, and she hadn't been able to ascertain what colors the others had Impressed. Another slight problem was that she couldn't remember the others' _names_... "Which ones?"

"One of your girls Impressed green, that boy from Thonet Impressed brown, and another Arolos boy Impressed a blue. Three out of seven is fantastic work," he congratulated her again, clapping her on the back. "Keep that up and they'll put you in the queens' wing-"

* * *

_"We can't put you in a fighting wing, Gisellaine," the Weyrleader told her regretfully. "V'rin said you've made a lot of progress, and Master Facurn agrees, but none of us think you can handle Fall in such a fragile state of mind."_

_"B-but..." She swallowed and shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking too much. Unfortunately this ensured the opposite of her goal: S'ber noticed and motioned her to sit down, though she declined to do so. "Sir, we've done all right in training..."_

_"Your technical progress may put half your classmates to shame, but we can't assign you to a fighting wing if you're only thinking of __**Zedorianth's**__ well-being." He looked up from the hide of notes that he was writing on. "You're just as important as your dragon. Remember that."_

* * *

"-monopolizing her, huh?" Harkness asked a laughing D'ref, though Dida noticed Gisellaine's changed expression.

"Are you all right?"

"Er, yes," she assured them. "Just... I was just talking to Zedo. You know how she gets, always saying the first thing on her mind..."

This was enough for D'ref, who was leaving for his table anyway, but the blonde raised a brow. "You went paper-white from talking with your dragon? You do that every other candlemark."

"I'm... it's not-" She tried not to cringe as the other two looked at her in concern, then ducked her head. "_Zedorianth is much less restrained than I am_," she mumbled after a gulp of klah.

Harkness chuckled in sympathy, sitting down and taking a meatroll from one of the platters. "I bet that our lady Gisellaine used to be a hold girl," he stated to her acknowledging nod.

"Cotholder from Igen."

"_Igen?_" Dida seized Gisellaine's nearest hand and inspected it in disbelief. "You've got the complexion of a Lady Holder compared to everyone else I've met from there! How did you _survive?_"

"Not all of Igen is desert_,_" she explained patiently. She reclaimed her arm so she could finish eating between bites, though her pace was much faster than usual. "My family's hold was in the scrublands near Benden. It's still warm, but not like Igen proper; and they kept me inside during the summer."

"You couldn't just cover up?" Harkness asked.

She sighed and reclaimed her hand so she could finish eating. "We weren't doing too badly since Father's a beastcrafter, but using half a jar of lotion every day and needing my clothes cleaned every _other_ day takes a lot of time and work in Igen. My parents decided that I should marry a Holder to solve the problem, and it was lucky that I turned out to be pretty. They promised to let me choose, but... I still hated having to go to every Gather possible, trying to get a ranking man's attention."

Worse was the knowledge that her parents _weren't_ being greedy or selfish, like in a ballad: Marrying a Holder had been the only surefire way to solve a bad situation, and becoming a dragonrider had achieved the same end-she'd rarely been without riding jacket and gloves in Ista, sticking to the shade for added measure, and Arolos was largely the same.

They took a moment to absorb the information, and presently Harkness sighed and hugged her around the shoulders. "I always wondered why you hated the idea of Gathers so much."

"Doesn't that mean your parents did all that work for nothing?" Dida asked. Gisellaine shook her head.

"I give them a mark or two when I get my month's pay. It's not like _I_ need money for food or clothes." It was times like these that the rider wished she was better at talking, because she sounded more guilty than she felt.

Eavesdropping as usual, Zedorianth caught her unease and sent her a consoling mental nudge. _Are you all right?_

_No._ She handed her mug and bowl to another drudge, dragging her fingers through her hair again.

_

* * *

_

Earlier in the morning, Tarie woke up to an insistent tapered muzzle nudging her through the sleeping furs. It took her a moment to remember the events of last night, but once she did a grin spread across her face. She'd Impressed a green at the Hatching!

Eyarlith didn't appreciate the moment of delay even if it was about her, mewling insistently to regain her rider's attention. _Hurry __**up**__! I'm hungry!_

"All right!" She hurried out of bed, apologizing as she stumbled into someone else's, and carefully uncovered one of the glowbaskets so she could see enough to straighten out her furs. As the light spread throughout the room, she noticed that Amirsa's bed-closest to the entrance so she wouldn't have to walk too far-was empty.

A vague profile groaned and disentangled herself from the bed's accompanying platform. "Morning..."

Nianath woke up immediately with a fretful squawk, making those in earshot wince. Amirsa patted the green's dark head with a sigh before picking up her sleeping fur and stepping over to her cot.

"Why weren't you in bed?" Tarie asked.

"She got terrified of the new gold," the other weyrling replied, stiffly folding the furs. "Beltenth is... well, _forceful_, and it doesn't help that I'm the one she tackled."

As they reached the main room of the barracks, they saw that buckets of meat were already being brought in for them. Ten or eleven buckets were already there, and drudges were coming over with more. Tarie searched out one with the right portion of meat for a green or blue as Eyarlith tagged along.

_This one!_ Eyarlith stopped at one of the half-filled ones, keening loudly with expectant hunger.

Tarie took a few chunks of meat and grimaced; outside of her just-Impressed ecstasy, she was clear-headed enough to notice how slimy and cold Eyarlith's raw meat was. The meat she'd been given at the Hatching had been somewhat warm, at least.

_**I**__ like it!_ Eyarlith said helpfully, crooning happily through the mouthful of meat that was tossed into her mouth.

"Remember to chew," she ordered, though her intended firmness was ruined by her search for something she could wipe her hands on. This was far different from helping the healers in the Infirmary and Threadfall, because even the worst burns and scores didn't _drip_...

Nianath's sudden, loud squeal startled everyone, and Tarie shot a glance over to spot Beltenth and her rider arriving. Favra seemed rather embarrassed to spot Nianath quivering helplessly between her rider and the bucket of meat, though her queen was quite unperturbed.

"Nianath, she's not going to _eat_ you," Amirsa told her dragonet over her whimpering, nudging her with a foot. "Out."

As Tarie sat down to make feeding her own green easier, she noticed that not even the bronze weyrlings were poking fun at Nianath; the dragonets in front of Beltenth had cleared a path immediately, watching their golden sister cautiously. She and Eyarlith were well across the room, but even then her green had paused warily before resuming her meal.

Several minutes later, the door to the barracks opened to reveal a fully-dressed bronzerider-R'tek, the Weyrlingmaster. He was as impeccably dressed as he'd been the previous night, albeit in normal riding gear rather than Gather finery, and his greying brown hair was a tidy contrast to the weyrlings', who'd either hastily brushed theirs or had woken too suddenly to bother. He strode into the room without a note of sleepiness, taking advantage of the weyrlings' momentary shift in attention. "Good morning, weyrlings! The drudges are coming up with the last few buckets, so don't tolerate your dragonets' fretting that they're going to starve."

The weyrlings who'd woken up latest looked relieved.

"You'll want to make sure they chew properly, but don't worry if their bellies start to bulge a little-it's only a problem if they turn eating into a competition. Riders of bronzes should especially watch for that; they can turn the smallest things into competition, even right from the shell." He chuckled, then resumed speaking. "Also, I heard from Valth that some of the weyrlings are getting upset?"

Favra grimaced. "I'm sorry, sir. I told Beltenth not to yell at the others, but she didn't even _say_ anything this time..."

Beltenth swished her tail languidly, eyes blue with satisfaction. She nudged her rider with surprising gentleness in a reminder that she was hungry, and Favra headed over to one of the bronze-portioned buckets to feed her.

"A crafty one, hm?" R'tek's expression shifted to the glazed stare that denoted speaking with his dragon. "Valth's informed the other queens to keep an eye on her, but remember to keep up what you're doing. Also, you want to be _very_ specific with what you tell her from now on-queens don't have to speak to order the other dragons around."

"Yes, sir."

The caution in the room had lessened quite a bit once R'tek went to his office for his lesson plans; perhaps it was the reassurance of having a rider whose dragon had the power of seniority over Beltenth.

_Tarie!_ Eyarlith butted her knee insistently, and Tarie reluctantly went back to feeding her green. Of all times to find out she _hated_ raw meat, it was when she'd be handling it for the next seven months.

* * *

**EDIT****: ** I normally like to answer reviews personally, but the latest review was anonymous. Amere Mortal mentioned that during the Threadfall chapter, I should not have written that Gisellaine was sedated since that sedating a concussion victim might kill them. My fault, since I misunderstood how to treat concussions; I thought that since concussion victims are usually confused and not too coordinated, they would need mild sedation to keep from hurting themselves-and in Gisellaine's case, she's effectively a soldier who's capable of accidentally hurting someone else. It may be too late to change it, but thank you VERY much for the pointer and I'll keep that in mind later.

On Gisellaine's morbidness: It was partly due to her concussion and partly because I wanted to bring her a bit more into the spotlight. I also wanted a more personal contrast-both with the stereotype of confident, unflappable dragonriders with aloof and dignified dragons, and with the weyrlings who are all happy and basking in their just-Impressed glow.

Regarding everything else: I have fixed the scene transitions.


End file.
